Alfred Hitchcock's 1959 "North by Northwest" is one of the handful of completely perfect movies. No one has ever topped this witty blend of humor and danger.

I'll leave you to marvel at the bi-plane chase in the cornfield and the Mt. Rushmore finale and focus here on one of those encounters that leaves you longing for your life to be like the movies if only for a couple of minutes.

Suave Cary Grant plays a suave New York ad executive mistaken for an American spy and framed for murder. Chased by the bad guys and the cops, he has to find the one man who can clear him: the real spy, an elusive shadowy figure named George Kaplan.

On the run, he boards the 20th Century-Limited bound for Chicago where he crosses paths with Eva Marie Saint, who may or may not be what she claims to be.

 

Cary may be a hunted man, but he still has time to check out Eva Marie Saint's retreating caboose after she helps him lose the police in Grand Central Station.

 

 

 

 

Once outside New York City, Cary is seated at Eva's table in the dining car, but not, as it turns out, by accident.

 

 

 

 

 

Grant strikes up a conversation with this latest in a long line of Hitchcock women; beautiful, blonde, sophisticated and sexually adventurous. How adventurous? Well...

Turns out she knows Cary's wanted for murder. She's not going to turn him in because she's rather intrigued by the possibilities. After all, she tells him, it's a long trip and she doesn't especially like the book she's started.

 

 

Cary considers some possibilities of his own and concludes that even a man on the run is entitled to a little human comfort.

Eva takes out a cigarette, Cary lights a match, and the audience learns how the dangers of smoking are balanced by the sexual subtext of the habit.

 

 

 

 

 

With Bernard Herrmann's breathtakingly romantic music playing, she leans in for the light and rests her fingers on the back of his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once the cigarette is lit she doesn't release him. Rather she pulls Cary's hand back to her lips and gently blows out the burning match.

 

 

 

 

Yes, it's bad for you. Yes, this is the sort of thing that never happened in real life until somebody thought to use it to encode sexuality in the movies, but done here with such polish and poise, the moment packs a heck of a punch.

And just between you and me and Alfred Hitchcock, I've done this move myself and men love it. A particularly cinematic thrill rippled through me and I felt linked not only to the man lighting my cigarette, but to countless sultry heroines.

 

 

 

 

Poor Cary. With no ticket he's forced to spend the night in Eva's private compartment. With Herrmann's incredible music pulsing to evoke the movement of the train and their growing passion, they start to make love.

 

 

 

 

 

This is the stuff of serious dreams: To be in Cary Grant's arms as the train rolls into the night, across the sleeping bosom of the republic.

 

 

 

But what's that look in Eva's eyes as the scene ends? Could it be she hasn't been altogether honest with our hero? Hmmmmm.

 

 

 

 

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